#sign my useless petition!

[identityarchitect]

i should probably leave the transuk sub

[autumnrory]

the other things taylor having worn from that brand being the gay necklace and the women power necklace (with proceeds to planned parenthood) so true

[phosphofructokinase-2]

MY MEDICAL SCHOOL IS RENAMING A ROOM AFTER TRANSPHOBIC, ANTI-PALESTINE ASSHOLES - PLS SIGN THIS PETITION AND HELP US STOP IT FROM HAPPENING!

LINK TO PETITION

Hello everyone. I’ve been seething these days because the medical school I go to is renaming a room after some transphobic, racist and misogynistic texas congresspeople that assisted our school with obtaining federal funding (basically making it so that student doctors don’t have to pay as much tuition, which really helps out low-income medical school students.) They are texas state senator Creighton and representative Metcalf.

HOWEVER as nice as this assistance was, I am vehemently against the naming of the room after these clowns.

1. Senator creighton supports legislation that is vehemently Anti-Healthcare.

these are some of the “certain treatments” prohibited for trans kids btw:

just purely hateful, knowing that gender confirming care SAVES THE LIVES OF TRANS CHILDREN. and we are training to be DOCTORS. with the goal of NOT ending lives. extending them even. there’s an oath about it and everything.

ALSO— NAMING A ROOM IN A MEDICAL SCHOOL AFTER A DUDE THAT OPPOSES CHILDRENS HEALTHCARE IS INSANE

2. BOTH creighton and metcalf are pro-israel

Again. We’re a medical school. training doctors to help people live longer, healthier lives. we do not support genocide.

I don’t even understand how making bills like this is even fucking allowed.

3. helping their representative community is their fucking job. We literally Voted Them Into Office For This Purpose. They are otherwise useless.

Honestly, their voting record gets worse. You can verify metcalf and creighton’s voting records at the links on their names.

the petition also has a much clearer and cleaner explanation about why this means so much to our school.

I know this feels like a relatively minor thing, but it means a lot to us. We want our school to be represented by those with a positive outlook on humanity. not a hateful one.

LINK TO PETITION: https://www.change.org/p/oppose-the-renaming-of-the-alc-and-teaching-theater-at-shsu-com?fbclid=PAZXh0bgNhZW0BMQABptQdaxLhejc49avWCzCpcrbVC7OzNmFOW8ihi-k6QjRLKBY18J6rkwIgXA_aem_AeheFM0DMHyuVsnbb611qTWiAQ4q9NNy-4ZEjjUW6ZB9Pyc3M2mMzOWxHY-Gg6B5gic

THANK YOU FOR READING PLEASE REBLOG AND LIKE AND SHARE and also sign the petition please it will take like 30 seconds.

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #4] The Gym

warnings: a gym. no further warning. oh and jk is sexy but what’s new?

soundtrack: 20 something - sza, angostura - keshi

wc: 4.1k

bd total wc: 540k (on-going)

minors dni | AO3 | series masterlist 

Glancing down to the address that Hoseok had hastily scribbled on a piece of scrap paper, you sigh. It's a hearty one. Clears your lungs. Gets your blood pumping a little swifter. There's a weight to staying alive, and it feels like it might just crush down on your windpipe and suffocate you altogether.

Okay, so maybe you're being dramatic. Maybe this is fine. You tell yourself to 'get a grip', but you know it's useless.

It's not that you're nervous - except for the fact you completely are - you just don't like the idea of gyms. They remind you of your ex a little too much. 

More specifically, how he'd force you to go along with him, and how you'd whine and moan, but spend the entire time laughing with him. How he'd lift you instead of weights. How he'd tell you that you look 'far too hot' in a pair of leggings and sports bra, and the way you'd keep them on until you got home just for the simple pleasure of him being the one to take them off.

So, yeah. You don't like gyms. Avoid them when you can.

Partially because you don't know which one he goes to anymore, but mainly because it feels like you can't breathe whenever you see a pair of shoulders almost broad enough to be his. There tend to be a lot of jacked guys in gyms. Makes it a more common occurrence.

Still, you've been trying to remedy that. Trying to face fears. Failing, but trying at least.

You swallow back the lump in your throat. Bite the bullet. Open the door. Easy. 

The girl at the front desk is potentially the most drop-dead gorgeous woman you've ever seen. Blonde, petite, a smile that could end wars. She's laughing with another member of staff - a trainer, you think - before he goes into a backroom.

You're a little unsure of yourself still, but she's glowing in such a way that it feels like maybe this could be okay. Nothing to fear. Plus who would even bother looking at a man's shoulders when someone who looks like she does is around? Far more captivating. Endlessly more appealing.

Her smile focuses on you as you walk towards her, brows lifted, eyes wide and open as if to say 'hiya! welcome!'. Her voice is just as chirpy as you imagine when she greets you.

"I don't think I recognise you," she says, questioning herself before she makes an introduction. "My name's Jiyeong, I'm a trainer here. Are looking to sign up for a membership?"

You shake your head and laugh a little awkwardly. You're not really dressed for the gym - a pair of sweats and a slouchy Carhartt tee. It's not sports gear appropriate for a place like this. Everyone's in skin-tight lycra, and they all look great wearing it. Makes you think that maybe you should try and get over this fear for good. Become one of those people.

"No, actually," you grimace a little awkward, voice sweet. You know you're gonna be asking for a favour, so try and fail to keep it short. Instead, you ramble a little. "I'm meeting someone here, but I don't have my phone - he's got it actually. Dumb accident. Long story actually, completely my fault - anyways, I was wondering if you'd be able to buzz me through so I could just grab it quickly? I'll be five seconds, in and out. Please."

It's at this point the corners of her mouth drop a little. Her lips press together. She's still smiling, but it doesn't reach her eyes anymore. "Hmm?"

"His name is Jeongguk," you begin to explain further - but then she smiles again and cuts you off.

"Oh, I don't think I know a Jeongguk?" She pouts a little. "Anyways, I'm really sorry but I can't let you through without a membership. Company policy. I really wish it wasn't the case, but they track the entry process."

You don't want to put her out. You've worked in customer service for long enough to know not to push company protocol. It's not worth getting fired over just to make a customer's life a tiny bit easier - and so you nod. 

"Of course, totally understand," you say as you glance over to the gate that allows access into the workout area. It needs a passcode. Can't even make a dash for it - although you're half tempted to when you see a couple come through the gate without a care in the world. It takes an absolute age to shut. "Do you guys do day memberships here? I literally just need to get in and out, but I'll pay for a day pass if I need to."

Something about Jiyeong is really throwing you off. She's smiling, and she looks like butter wouldn't melt, but there's a sourness to it all. There's no butter. Just curdled milk.

She winces apologetically. Shrugs. Brings her shoulders to her ears in a way you would have found sweet maybe five minutes ago. Shakes her head. 

"They're referral only. You'll need someone with a preexisting membership with you. But!" She chirps up. "We have a month pass you can purchase instead."

For all of your common sense faux pas, and the bad decisions that have led you here, you're not actually stupid. No gym in their right mind would actively try and sabotage their own earnings. She's spewing bullshit, but is somehow managing to make it smell like roses.

"A month?" You question, trying not to let your frustration show.

"Mhhm," she nods.

Her beauty seems to fade with every smile. Ironic, really. Her friendly demeanour is what had made her so attractive, and now it's shattering the illusion.

In any other circumstance, you'd say fuck it, and head home - but Jeongguk has your phone. 

You said you'd meet him here. You could wait until he finishes his workout but you have no idea when that will be, and you're still suffering from your hangover. You just want to get it over and done with, so you say, "Alright, I'll sign up for a month. No rolling contract."

"No rolling contract," she nods. "Okay. Just need a few details from you."

There's a form to fill out; payment details to be given. A box to tick: which trainer helped you sign-up? Small print: Trainers earn a small commission for every sign-up. Please ask for their name. 

You're half tempted to check another trainer's name, but she's watching you like a fucking hawk.

Should have just chosen the club. Would have been easier. Could have even made a night of it - it's a Saturday after all. But no, you and your tiny marble brain thought that the gym would be easier? Better?

Ridiculous. Hoseok had been right all along. It was the worst choice you'd made all week.

"You're all ready," she smiles as you lament the choices of your past self. She says a goodbye that sounds friendly but feels like a fuck you. You're not sure what exactly you've done to rub her up the wrong way, but you'd quite like it if you never rubbed shoulders with her again.

There's a mechanical whir as you enter a pin into the gate. It opens for you with a small beep, and you feel like your throat is closing up a little bit. There's a wrought iron staircase leading up to the weight area, the bottom level focused more on machines and cardio. A third floor is reserved for studios and private classes according to the signage, so you decide he's probably not there.

You don't know much about this man, but you have seen him without a shirt on. The weight area seems like a safe bet. 

There's an uncomfortable discord in your chest as you head up to the second floor, your black high-top chucks padding against the metal gently. Hair up, not even trying to pretend like you're not still hanging, part of you regrets dressing so casually.

Your skin feels all hot and clammy, and you know exactly why, but you try and convince yourself that it's just the hangover. That's all it is.

It'll pass, you tell yourself. In and out. You're alright.

Jeongguk notices you before you notice him. He's by the mirrors. Caught sight of you, your eyes all wide and worried - presumably in search of him -  as he was checking his form. Putting his weight down, he turns to face you a little more straight on, which is what draws your focus to him.

"Hey," he says a little breathlessly, a tone of surprise evident. He whips a towel over his shoulder, and you're reminded of how he looked behind the bar of Dionysus. Dabs at his face a little. Shakes his head to adjust the hair that is stuck to his forehead from his workout.

"What are you doing up here?" He asks tenderly, conscious of the fact you look like you've seen a ghost. He's aware he probably doesn't look his best, but he didn't think he looked that bad. "I told Jiyeong to let me know when you arrived. Was just gonna bring it down, save you the hassle."

"Oh," you reply, a little stuck on your words. The burning in your throat is subduing. The pressure on your chest feels a little lighter. 

"Sorry, I -" you begin, and then you remember who the fuck you are. You hate being like this. Hate when you get panicked. Hate that he seems to be looking at you with concern. Also hate that Jiyeong is apparently a massive dick, but you'll choose to be frustrated about that later. "I actually have a membership here."

Joy.

Jeongguk hums in surprise, head tilting, mouth forming a cute little 'o'. "You do? Never seen you here before."

Wonder why.

"Oh yeah, here all the time," you nod, because apparently Jiyeong isn't the only one who fancies being a big old liar today. And then you smile. Flirt. "Like, maybe even more than you."

Now, this he does raise a brow at. Smirks. Picks up his weight as he moves to straddle the bench beside him. He sits down and places the weight beneath his arms for something to lean on. "Not so sure about that."

He's wearing black chucks, too. Slouchy black tee. The only real difference is that he's in shorts. Your lips curve upwards, but you catch them before he notices.

"I'm just always downstairs," you shrug, playing off your little white lie like it's no biggie. "Surprised I haven't seen you about here, either."

You don't mean to be such an egregious liar, you're just embarrassed. Ashamed. Disconcerted by the fact you know you looked like a lost puppy when you arrived, and also how you know Jiyeong totally played some weird power move on you. You're not sure what to make of it. Don't like it, but also will likely never see her again. Not worth it. Not over some guy you don't intend on ever seeing again, either.

The logical assumption to be made is that she's involved with him in some capacity. Makes sense. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy to get lonely in the early hours.

Jeongguk accepts your bullshit. He knows it's bullshit because he does cardio as much as he does weights - anyone with an inkling of gym knowledge would be able to tell. He's sure you have your own niche, things that would win you points on a pub quiz, but the gym? Doesn't seem likely.

"Phones just in my locker," he tells you as he gets to his feet again, lifting his weight like it's a cup of coffee. You've no idea how much it weighs. Doubt you'd be able to make it look that effortless. "I'm just finishing up. Can you wait, like, five minutes? Or do you have places to be?"

His skin is dappled in rivulets of sweat. There's too much to take in visually, so you focus on his voice, instead. It's soft. Tender. Kind, you think. 

And so despite the fact there's no place you'd rather be less, you smile. Nod. "I can wait."

He nods back, says thank you, and gets back to his weights. He does a few more reps just to get to his daily goal, and then sets about clearing his area; puts the weights back on the rack, wipes down his bench. Runs his hand through his damp hair. Exhales a deep breath before turning to face you with a smile.

You wonder if he can notice the drool you've been trying not to let slip. 

He can't - but finds it curious how he didn't catch your gaze a single time during his final few reps. The gym is relatively quiet at this time of day, so there's no one in the immediate vicinity. Whenever he'd glanced in the mirror, your eyes were elsewhere.

One place in particular. 

The other mirror; one that's angled in such a way you can see his side profile. Jeongguk's aware of it. Had kind of positioned himself in line with it on purpose. 

"What's so interesting?" he asks and is met with a confused hum. Does he really think you're gonna admit to checking him out? Dream on. "You were just like... absorbed by that mirror. Good reflection?"

"Oh," you mumble, cheeks deepening in tone - and yet your poker face is just so good. "Was zoned out. Didn't notice."

He doesn't call you out on it any further. For all he knows, you could be telling the truth.

You wait for him by the entryway gate as he gets changed. Jiyeong watches you from the corner of her eye, being as discreet as she possibly can - but you can feel her eyes on you. In fact, she's as good at discretion as you were when you were watching Jeongguk work out.

When he finally emerges in a pair of grey shorts and hoodie, you smile. So does Jiyeong. 

He greets you. Ushers you through the gate. Says hi and bye to Jiyeong. Puts a hand on the top of your back as he opens the front door of the gym, but insists you walk through first. 

"How are you feeling today?" He asks as you make your way down the path that leads to the subway station. "Still rough?"

"That obvious?" You laugh. "Ouch. Thanks, dude."

"No," he laughs back. "You're forgetting I was the only sober person in my apartment last night. You drank enough to kill a person."

"That's not true," you accuse, before deflecting the blame. "Was all you and your Purple Starfuckers. Bloody lethal."

"Bloody brilliant," he counters. There's an ease as you walk side by side. You chalk it up to finally being out of the gym. Feels like you can breathe again. "Tell me you didn't keep coming back for more."

He has a point. You're surprised you didn't all drink the bar dry. But you simply laugh. Tap the crease of his elbow lightly with the back of your hand. 

He's smiling, too.

"Tell me you didn't keep giving me them for free! On the house! What kind of maniac turns down free drinks?!"

You've got a point. He can't argue against it - so instead he just gets a little argumentative. It's all in good fun. Shared humour. 

"Well then next time, you'll get nothing on the house, how about that? Not even water."

You snort a little, pushing your head back as you do so. You pass the first subway exit, with no idea if you're heading in the right direction for one another. Neither of you asks; neither of you declares. 

"Next time?" You scoff, still hanging. "I'm never drinking again."

"Heard that one before."

"I mean it. This hangover has written me off. Work almost killed me."

He wonders where you work. Wonders if the work is gruelling, or if you'd been able to recover in peace. He hopes for the latter. Would tease you if it's the former.

"You working tomorrow?" he pipes up. There's curiosity in his tone, but not enough for you to realise just how intrigued he is by you.

He's never seen a girl walk out on Jimin before. Ever. It's kind of remarkable. He wants to know why. Doesn't want to ask why, though.

You shake your head. "Day off." 

Thank god.

Jeongguk considers his options. He knows full well, walk-out or not, that you fucked Jimin last night. It adds complexity. Makes him unsure of his next steps. 

It's not like he's trying to get in your pants - he'd never hear the end of it from the boys if he went for Jimin's leftovers - but he'd be a liar if he said he didn't like your presence at the bar last night.

Not just you. All three of you. You've good energy. He enjoys the nights when punters are actually fun. If tonight is gonna be busy, he'd rather it be busy on his own terms.

"DJ's are doing a throwback theme tonight," he hums, and the way you stop in your tracks is beyond satisfying for him. He loves it when a plan comes together.

"Throwbacks, you say?"

He stops too, and turns to look at you with a slight air of nonchalance. There's a shrug to his broad shoulders, which remarkably don't remind you of your exes, his wide eyes soft as a subtle smile graces his lips. "All bangers."

"Define bangers," you challenge.

And oh, how Jeon Jeongguk loves a challenge. 

"Well," he says as he begins walking again. You follow. "Last time there were a LOT of old-school Taylor Swift songs."

"Keep talking."

"Timbaland, Rihanna - I'm talking proper noughties classics."

"I'm listening."

"Outkast, Coldplay, Arctic Monkeys-"

"Offt."

"-Kanye, Mika, you name it. One Direction, fuckin' anything. They'll play it."

"Do they take requests?"

"Well, no I didn't mean they'll literally play anything you name," he laughs. "But you've got an in." He points at himself, seemingly proud of that fact. "I can get them to play whatever you want."

"Offt, I love having friends in high places," you muse, to which he tells you to 'fuck off' with the biggest grin on his face you've seen all day. "I'll think about it. You on the bar?"

He nods. "I am indeed."

"Hmm. Makes it less tempting."

Jeongguk wants to fight back, but knows that he'd probably end up flirting, and it's not his intention - so he changes the topic. 

"Jimin might be there, too. A friendly face."

He doesn't notice the way your face scrunches up a little uncomfortably. 

"I'm not really sure that'll sway me," you tell him. "Was a one-time thing. Sorry about that, again. Waking you, I mean. Not cool."

You really do believe your words - after all, Jeongguk had been the one to return your phone, not Jimin. Chivalry is dead, and apparently men get their housemates to return glass slippers, these days.

It's kind of Jeongguk's own fault.

Jimin doesn't know you've lost it. Jeongguk hasn't told him. Isn't sure why. Didn't really think about it at the time.

"It's fine, really. And I've lived with Jimin long enough to know it's never just a one-time thing."

"I'm an exception."

"Believe it when I see it."

And suddenly you feel challenged now - but you're by the final subway entrance. You've walked past three exits already. Should have really taken the first. Couldn't bring yourself to end the conversation earlier. 

However, now that the conversation has turned towards the topic of Jimin, you find yourself less inclined to continue it. You'd rather not be reminded of your questionable drunk decisions in the cold, sober light of day.

"This is me," you tell him. 

"Ah." He stops walking. Pauses. Looks at his Chuck Taylor-clad feet as he stands in front of you. He's holding onto the strap of his rucksack as he asks, "So you'll be at the club tonight?"

When he looks up, he's nibbling down on his bottom lip—toying with his lip ring. There's a hesitancy to his words, as if he's afraid you might say no.

You pretend as if you're weighing up your options, shifting your weight from foot to foot, lips pursed. You know if you propose the idea to Hoseok he'll jump at the chance to get shitfaced again, and where the pair of you venture, Danbi will surely follow. It's inevitable that you will end up at Dionysus tonight. 

But you simply smile and say, "Maybe."

He rolls his eyes, and it makes you laugh. He laughs, too. It's sweet, the way his energy matches yours. There's an ease to your rapport. You think it must be incredibly easy to be his friend. 

"Promise me a free Purple Starfucker, and I'll consider it a little bit more," you bargain.

He runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, as he readjusts his bag over his shoulder, shaking his head a little. His eyes are glossy, and dark, and you think they look just like black treacle.  

"Maybe."

"Okay then," you nod. "See you maybe, Jeongguk."

He nods back. "See you maybe, Disco Ball."

"I won't come if you call me a disco ball again," you shout back as you descend down the stairs, leaving him by the exit.

He chooses not to banter back, scared he could ruin the moment; make things awkward, somehow. Instead, he turns on his heel, and begins retracing his steps. 

His turning was three junctions ago. He'd carried on walking just to talk bullshit with you. He chalks it up to him being too awkward to cut the conversation off. 

See, he might like a challenge, but he's plagued by the realities of them, too. Hates the idea of people not liking him. Wants to be loved universally, so refuses to embark on endeavours that could prove otherwise. He's Mr What If, and he's quite content that way. 

Jeongguk's nearly by the first crossing when he hears you shouting after him. You're a little breathless. Panting. He knows there's absolutely no way you do cardio.

"Wait, wait!" You call all flustered and hurried. "Jeongguk! Wait!" 

He's already waiting. The lights are still red. You're too concerned by your own internal panic to notice.

"Phone!" You almost wail, before you laugh. Inhale. Rest your palms on your knees. Exhale. Look up towards him. "My phone, Jeongguk! You still have my phone."

"Oh, shit," he laughs, pulling off his rucksack and fishing about for it. Seems so stupid to have forgotten about it. His cheeks are hot. 

It's returned promptly, apologies tumbling from his lips like laughter is falling from yours.

"This was all part of your plan, wasn't it?" You narrow your eyes accusingly. "Was gonna keep it so I had to go to the club."

He raises his arms, hands next to his ears, palms spread open, as if he's holding a white flag. "You caught me."

But it'll be Jeongguk catching you later - or at least your gaze, as he reciprocates a knowing smile when you inevitably end up in Dionysus, ready to make all the wrong choices all over again.

AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT

[putschki1969]

Hello Sarah,

First of all, thank you for the insight on the matter. I know you are super busy and not in the perfect mood (trust me I'm not doing any better) considering what happened, so I leave it up to you if you want to post this or not as it may be abit too dark of a message.

I know these past couple of days have been disheartening and disappointing, especially when you feel powerless to do something right now other than support the girls.

Part of me was thinking, "Why we the fans don't do something about it?", like signing a petition with a respectful message towards Yuki to reconsider, and for the future FJ/YKL events (since this year has already been decided) to include Keiko (and Hikaru, Wakana if possible) again.

However, I'm also thinking that this may add fuel to the fire and maybe it's something that the girls and Keiko foremost would not want us to do, considering how subtle and professional she was in her statement.

I'm not gonna lie that with all this s...show, makes me worry about Keiko's wellbeing.

Seeing 20 years worth of work thrown out of the window from someone who you have utmost respect and getting the silent treatment from people you have long friendships it's a tough pill to swallow.

Considering what we have seen with other Japanese celebrities over the years, it's a thought that gives me shudders.

Now, we never know what is going on behind the scenes, and I pray that the connections are still there.

Apologies if my message got a bit dark there, but some tend to forget that we're dealing with human beings.

Hopefully, we will have some good news in the near future to turn things around. We really need a breather after all this. For every low, there's a high as they say! 🙏

Hi there!

Thank you for being so considerate. I am in fact having a very hard time right now. Questions are piling up in my inbox and every post inspires a new wave of replies. It's a uphill battle for sure. But don't worry, it's mostly my fault for feeling too overwhelmed and not knowing when to stop🙃. I want to try my best to clarify the situation as best as possible and to answer any open question. I also feel the need to explain myself if things didn't come across properly. Oh well, in short, I am happy to reply to your ask even if it's a tricky topic.

Hmm, yeah, I don't think petitions directed at creators or artists are ever a good idea. I'm actually strictly against them. Even if we hate the current developments, we have ultimately no choice but to respect those decisions or move on to another fandom that brings us more joy. Of course we can be critical and question all the things that are happening but we should always do it in a contained space, in our own little fandom corner, far away from any of the involved parties. With a delicate matter such as this, it would probably cause more harm than good to publicly express our dissatisfaction and make demands. Everything in this feud boils down to keeping your head low, avoiding confrontation, being quiet and not disclosing any valuable information.

And yes, as you say, based on Keiko's comment, she would definitely not want us to do anything drastic that would draw attention to us. and could potentially make Yuki look bad. She has taken this decision in stride so as her fans, we should probably be able to do so as well. It's gonna take a little while longer but that's basically what I'm working towards. Just have to get rid of some of my bitterness.

Keiko is strong, I think we don't have to worry about her. She has stayed true to her word in her last Yodel message and gone back to her regular routine as if nothing happened. Like always, she has been wishing us a good morning with a funny emoji, she has given us glimpses into her work day and made sure to emphasise how much fun she's been having (probably to give us some peace of mind). Yesterday, she apparently had a super fun photo shoot. Many of the photos will be useless because of her cracking up and laughing like crazy [She didn't specify but I think this might have been for a new calendar? I wouldn't know what other things she would do a photo shoot for. Maybe the Undokai festival will have a pamphlet or something? I don't know.] Today was filled with lots of meetings [Once again, no idea what for but I'm kinda hopeful it was Kalafina related since Hikaru's tweet about starting "another task" for the day - implying that she had been doing something else before - came around the same time as Keiko's message on Yodel, saying that she was done with interviews for the day] . She got home pretty late but apparently she had a blast and time went by super quickly. She treated herself to some chocolate and sent an adorable picture. I cannot possibly gatekeep this precious photo so here you go!

For my part, I am confident that none of their connections are severed. It's a rough patch for sure and what is being conveyed to he public seems very harsh. But there's so much more going on behind the scenes. I wish there wouldn't be so many missing puzzle pieces but that's just something we have to live with. Do you remember when everyone believed that the connection with Wakana was lost? None of that was true. And I never believed it to be true. I always had faith and I shall continue to have faith.

Yes, let's stay positive!! Hikaru herself just recently said that life balances itself out, good things will follow for sure.

[twig-tea]

The Trainee ep2: I am Seated

I am buzzing after The Trainee ep2. I love when a show sets up characters with clear arcs and then delivers on their journeys perfectly, and this show is being so smart about what it's laying down. We got a perfect introduction to Ryan and Jane in ep1 and in ep2 we're already seeing movement in their arcs in the direction the show has flagged. This is smart writing!

Ryan is a frustrating but lovable character; he is smart and competent he just has no drive and is unsure about his place in the world and his role in it. In other words, he's young and inexperienced. And he's in over his head; he signed up for this internship because his friend dragged him to it, and went for it because they hired him and he doesn't know what else to do with his life. He is clearly driven by doing a good job and being appreciated; the client at his parent's print shop liking his work was motivating for him, and the show has shown us that he keeps that place running. He actually has the makings of a great AD--noticing where other people fall short and pre-emptively filling those gaps, prepping so that when other people get to their next task their prep is already done, understanding all of the different pieces and how the need to fall into place; all of that will make him great at the job. But he doesn't know anything about making content and he isn't self-driven or motivated enough to do any reading on his own, at least not yet. I love how honest he is: He did not brook any trash talk of Jane after Jane showed up for him, and he recognizes his own flaws and doesn't want to be a burden. His hesitation is understandable considering his ignorance, and my frustration with him is mostly that he hasn't tried to address that in himself yet, but I also get it because he wasn't sure he wanted this role in the first place. I'm really excited to watch him fall in love with content creation, and with Jane, and to see him hone his skills.

Speaking of Jane, I love this character. He's grumpy, but the show has given us so many reasons why (all of whom are his colleagues, who seem to be unable to do anything without him while constantly talking badly about him behind his back). He's rude because he needs to be in order to get anything done at this place, and frankly, probably because he can be--he's so integral to this workplace that nobody can tell him to tone it down, even when it's not workplace appropriate. Baimon is a classic boss--charismatic but useless, and he clearly looks to Jane to solve any problem that comes up. I've worked with people like Jane before; so competent that they get away with being rude AF. And he's not actually a bad boss, is the thing. He gets annoyed and says so, but he doesn't hold Ryan's ignorance against him. Despite being frustrated that he wasn't given someone with experience to help him, he asked Ryan for his ideas on how to solve a problem, and then trusted him to execute the task. He calls Ryan out for being so slow to speak (this man is on a constant urgent deadline!), but still waits to hear him out. When Ryan admits he made a real mistake, Jane explains what he did wrong and how to avoid it in future. This is something I see people get twisted all the time: someone pointing out a mistake, even getting annoyed by it, and asking for it to be fixed, is not actually the same thing as not letting anyone make mistakes or being someone to whom you can't admit a mistake. Jane gave Ryan a chance to problem-solve, assigned him meaningful work, gave him credit for a good job, explained where he went wrong when Ryan admitted a mistake to him, helped him fix it, and let him make his own choices about staying or going. He said, if you don't like this job, you can quit, but I think you would be good at it. He sees potential in Ryan, and I am so excited to watch Jane turn Ryan into a competent colleague and then something more. In the meantime, please sign my petition to get Jane a minimum 2-week vacation and a skilled assistant.

Beyond these two characters, the humour is hitting for me, the work tension is so real, and the side characters are a lot of fun. Every one of the interns is nuanced and seems to have an arc ready for them, which I absolutely love. Pie is competent but self-interested and not a team player (happy to use Ryan to either help achieve a goal or throw him under the bus). Teh lacks confidence. Pah needs to learn to take things seriously. And this show so far is showing me that it's smart enough to deliver.

TL;DR The Trainee is excellent and I'm having a great time!

[mxnrxville-sxnsxts]

๋࣭ ⭑ petite, delicate, and other things i'll never be ⭑ ๋

The FBI is offering a reward of up to $250,000 for information leading directly to the arrest of Frank Iero, Jr., wanted for multiple charges of murder, larceny, and arson. CONSIDERED ARMED AND EXTREMELY DANGEROUS.

⭑.ᐟ serial killer au ;; slow burn ;; strangers to lovers ⭑.ᐟ frerard ;; wip ;; appx. 70k in total ⭑.ᐟ blood and violence ;; angst

read ch 1. on ao3 ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── or read below cut ⤦

I took another drag of my cigarette, closing my eyes as the smoke made its burning trek down into my lungs before letting it waft out of my mouth, folding over itself as it drifted up towards the ceiling. It pooled around the base of the ceiling fan, which spun so slow and lazily that it was basically useless, and then disappeared altogether; I took another puff, and soon the ceiling was decorated with grey smoke once again.

I rolled my head over, raking my eyes across the motel room. It seemed I was one of, if not the only, guest here, and probably the best business the poor owners would get outside of teenagers on Friday nights; this dwindling town was barely big enough to warrant having a motel in the first place. The room—and the rest of the motel with it—was in near shambles. The one window, overlooking the cracked and pot-hole ridden parking lot, was yellowed to the point it could’ve been used for the stained glass of Jesus’s glowing crown. The curtains were threadbare and did next to nothing to stop any Toms from watching you sleep, the carpet felt like walking on crumbs, and the mattress had a visible valley in the center from the past twenty years of patrons. I kept the “Do Not Disturb��� sign on the knob at all times so no maids would waste their time changing the towels I wasn’t going to use or wash the sheets I was barely going to sleep in, and God forbid try to tidy up and rummage through my things. I’d rather the poor girls just scroll on their phone in the maintenance closet. Besides, I wouldn’t be here long.

I stubbed the end of my cigarette out against the edge of the nightstand, watching the burn mark slowly fade outwards as the cherry began to die out. I had forgotten to grab an ashtray when I was out earlier and, unlike most motels I’d stayed at, this one didn’t provide one. I would have felt bad if it weren’t for the dozens of other, older matching circular burns adorning the rest of the chipped wood finish across the nightstand and the headboard. I swung my feet over the edge of the bed, shoes already on (what’s the point in taking them off when the carpet is destroyed?), and grabbed my shoulder bag off the floor with one grand sweep. I stepped out the door, swinging the room key around my finger as I trotted down the sidewalk into town.

It was quiet and cold; no one was out this late on a Tuesday evening in late October. Figures. Like all the other towns I’d passed through, nothing particularly interesting happens—just another little suburb, populated by kids who never left fathering kids who will probably never leave, either.

What I mean is, it’s a shithole. An average east coast town, the local park littered with fast food wrappers and beer bottles, all shoved up into the bushes to hide it away—currently covered by the orange and yellow leaves blown up over everything. The only population seems to be old people, high schoolers, and their parents, and the only things that happen worth noting is whatever happens at the local high school. All I’m doing is giving the news something fun for once in its sorry life. They should thank me, honestly, when all is said and done; people will actually know the name Summit, New Jersey. Nothing like the high school football team getting the headline for the fourth week in a row to break your journalistic spirit.

Not that it mattered. The place was a shithole, and it would stay that way; murder certainly wasn’t going to make it better. Shitholes were my favorite, though—my specialty, if you would. That’s why they’ll never catch me, too many little nowhere towns to look in. Twenty bucks and a Greyhound ticket will take you anywhere.

Well, it was probably more likely it was just because the cops don’t know who I am. I like to think it’s my smarts that throw them off, though, and not their own incompetence.

As I strolled down the center of town, I glanced down the dark, dirty alleyways that adorned the sides of the mom-and-pops that have long since closed, and teenage employees long since returned home. The warm yellow of the streetlights lit up the dirt caked on the concrete floor, spurts of wild grass and little flowers popping their heads up through the cracks. So many crime dramas and PSAs posit violent crime as something existing only within dark, dirty alleyways. Do people actually think NCIS is going to show you the reality, the cold hard facts? It’s laughable.

Everyone has a pattern, though. Some people get up and drink coffee on their way to an office job, some people help their kids off to the bus before dressing themselves. I pick up odd jobs here and there, shoveling dirt for landscaping or painting houses, but I prefer to make my money out of pawnshops than flipping burgers. Social interaction has never exactly been my strong suit; everyone has their fears, and my worst is being recognized for what I am. Hopping towns helps keep my profile low—I’ve been all over the east coast at this point, and through the most convoluted routes. Personal relationships are nonexistent—I don’t know my victims, and I like to keep it that way. Even when stalking out a target beforehand, my top priority is anonymity, not information.

I don’t do all this for fun, though. At my core, I’m a thief; I take cash and whatever else I could pawn easily, without a trace. I don’t do roommates, partners, or dogs, or some kind of security system I had yet to figure out; robotics class taught me enough to cut the right wires for simple alarms, but not much more. Anything else isn’t worth my time—it was pointless to risk getting myself in danger for a robbery when it takes fifteen minutes to fill out an application for Speedway.

I rob because it’s easy. I kill for my own protection—like insurance. That’s it.

The wind tossed my hair every which way, sending a chill through my thin windbreaker, and I hunched my shoulders in closer. I kept my eyes glued to the sidewalk beneath my feet, rife with more weeds sticking up between the rocks and concrete. It was dusk; my shadow stretched out further and further in front of me, slowly melting into the darkness of the disappearing sun. Soon, I was out of town entirely, surrounded by trees instead of restaurants, and the houses grew fewer and farther in between. The intermittent streetlights flickered, sending an eerie yellow glow across the empty country road, illuminating the faded lines and decades of patched asphalt. Just as it became a struggle to even see rocks below my feet, I came face to an elegant mailbox.

I looked up to a long, winding driveway heading up a hill dotted with huge, weeping oak trees. The lawn was well manicured—the grass didn’t have a spot of brown in sight, save for some sprigs of wildflowers spotted throughout the incline. The trek up the drive was long and dark, accompanied by multiple near misses with a face full of dirt from nearly tripping over decorative boulders, but, after a few minutes, I came face to face with a large green and white Victorian. A flag for the local football team was hung off the porch, swaying in the light autumn wind. Through the large bay windows adorning the front I could see straight into a well decorated living room, complete with the glow of the television and a young woman watching from the couch. I noticed her at the grocery store a few days ago, while picking up cigarettes and Coke; she looked like she was on her way to a date, with matching set of jade jewelry and an expensive Vuitton purse.

Off the side of the house, past some luscious hedges, was a stone path leading around to the rear of the house, leading up to a back door and a concrete patio, complete with—bingo!—a circuit box. I dropped my bag to the ground and rummaged through it, settling a flashlight between my teeth and juggling wire cutters in my hand. The circuit box popped open easily; the wire cutters helped to pry my way through the tangle of cords and breakers, careful to disable only the burglar alarm. I picked and plucked until I felt satisfied, before pulling my bag back over my head and sliding over to the door. It was a simple metal storm door with a simple screen in the middle, framing an equally cheap looking door on the inside. Trading wire cutters for a box knife made easy work of the screen, and then, to my joy, I found the inner door wasn’t even locked. The seclusion of country living is quite comforting, I suppose.

Crawling through the hole where the screen used to be wasn’t easy, but luckily I travel light. The door led to a dim kitchen, lit only by what light bled into it from the living room. The television was playing a movie I didn’t recognize, the soundtrack accompanied by the crunching of popcorn. Beside me was a landline phone on the counter, which I promptly unplugged and shoved in my bag. My investigation was cut short as the couch began to creak; a shadow appeared in the doorway and I quickly tucked myself into a corner leading back to the front door. A scream rang out—likely from the ripped up storm door. Jane Doe turned her back to me as she began searching the counter for the landline, and I left my hiding spot to wrap one hand across her mouth and used other to scoop her wrists up, pinned behind a hip. As she struggled under me, I pulled her closer and kicked one of her legs out from under her, leaving her weight to rest between one socked foot and my hands.

“Just do as I say and you won’t be hurt,” I whispered, putting on the softest voice I had, “or I can do this by force. It’s your choice.”

Slowly, she stopped struggling.

Swiftly and intentionally, I moved my hand from her mouth to the back of her head and slammed it down onto the granite counter, using the momentum to toss my bag onto it as well, muffling the sound of bone cracking against stone and the cry of pain that followed it. Shifting my arm to hold her down, my freed hand rummaged through my bag—the loud ruffling of metal and plastic against canvas mostly drowned out the groans, and I was inclined to ignore what seeped through. I finally pull out bundles of zip ties, closing one around her wrist with my teeth. I straightened up, looping fingers through the zip tie and the others around her throat, and slowly pulled her upright with me. She sniffled as she lifted her head up, dripping blood onto the counter and rolling down the valley between her eyes and nose.

“This is where you’re gonna follow instructions. Walk upstairs.”

Slowly she shuffled out of the kitchen and through the hallway I was just in moments earlier. I reached out and flicked the light switch on as we passed, illuminating walls covered in family pictures and fine art. Around the corner was a tall staircase, framed by an elegantly carved banister, and leading up to an expansive second floor.

She paused at the top of the stairs, sniffling again. “I don’t have much,” she quavered. “If it’s money you want, then just take it. I won’t fight you I promise—”

I sighed; if I was interested in sob stories, I wouldn’t be holding a woman hostage in her own home, and it wouldn’t be a familiar act. I took a step towards the closest ajar door and kicked it wide, shoving her down into a nearby chair to shut up her whining. “Is there a safe I somehow missed?” I sneered, pulling out more zip ties to strap her down to the arms and legs. “I didn’t exactly see any stacks of cash laying around. But if you could point me to whatever room you keep the gold bars in, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

When I turned back around, she was silently crying, tears mixed with the congealed blood on her cheeks. “Oh, my dear,” I whispered, kneeling at her feet. “Calm down. You’ll be fine.”

She sniffed. “Really?”

A smile graced my lips and I let a chuckle out as I turned to pull a sharp, gleaming knife out of my bag. “No, probably not.”

[creature-wizard]

Do you have any advice for having hope in these dark times? I’m scared about Trump cracking down on people who resist him like the ACLU and I feel useless because I’m disabled.

First of all, cut down on your news consumption, and resist doomstrolling. Make sure you're engaging in activities that allow you to pull away from everything for awhile and decompress.

If you haven't done it already, you can follow more positivity blogs (I have some listed in this post). You can also follow blogs like Reasons For Hope and Direct Action For Hope. Even if you can't do everything they're talking about, you can still reblog and share the information with your friends.

I would also recommend reading through the Real Social Skills blog. It's got a lot of extremely practical advice for both disabled folks and people who want to be activists.

You can also scroll through my activism tag and see if there's anything there that you can do or share with other people.

You can also sign and reblog petitions, and call senators and representatives when the opportunity comes up.

If anyone out there has any other advice, feel free to chime in!

[vicontheinternet]

this come up every 3-5 business months and we have to keep telling y'all grown adults that y'all are wrong

Hi I am here to remind you that tony stark was not in the right in captian America civil war and not to bring real world politics in to it but by now I'd think we'd seeing how utterly useless the un is. If Tony had cared at all to stick by the accords or if they had any repercussions at all he would’ve had to wait and go to the un and petition the un to say that there are fucking aliens attacking earth then ask them if he could stop then wait for their answer. But he doesn’t even have respect for the thing that he had a hand in making instead he played the victim and took no accountability in his part and said the avengers broke up and then said that’s why my idea for the shield around the earth was a great idea. The accords were abysmal and Tony wrote him a way out while the other members of the avengers either had to sign or retire he wrote into the accord that he was exempt so ofc he was going to peddle that thing he was going to face nothing. The only reason he was doing this was because an American mother made him feel guilty he didn’t feel guilty for the town of ppl whose were ruin he didn’t feel guilty abt Wanda’s brother and she was sleeping in avengers tower he got to see her more often then that singular woman. Tony broke the accords like 3 separate times and you want me to be on his side. Don’t get me started on Peter because y’all irondad fans are weird. Y’all want me to see the guy who canonically kidnapped a kid peter was 14 in cacw he didn’t have a passport until homecoming and Tony withheld any information from Peter so that he couldn’t make an informed decision on what happened and what team he would want to be on and Tony took a 14 year old Peter to Germany under false pretense to fight a fight that he had no business being in without informing his legal guardian that is the textbook definition kidnapping. Ppl can say team cap is wrong all they want but at least their team stayed together and respects ppls consent. Why would cap trust the un when just the last movie it was exposed that hydra was in the government. I truly believe that ppl who are team iron man throws out all logic because “bucky killed his parents” even though he was brainwashed and they beat his ass even though he started it that man is grown grown if he didn’t want to lose a fight he shouldn’t have started it. He didn’t even like his father yall get on Peter quil’s ass for his emotional reaction but that was a fucking emotional reaction and he got his ass beat. I’m sorry but his ego got him thinking he could take out Bucky Barnes who was formerly the winter soldier with his friends right next to him and thought Steve wasn’t going to do nothing. And to dispel this misconception Steve and Tony weren’t friends they were barely co workers they tolerated each other

[fourmoony]

My mum always says that I make everyone else’s problems my own, and I take them too personally. I’m always very mindful of this when I use my social media to talk about world/political issues. I’ve been trying to find the words for a long, long time to describe how hateful, how soul crushing, and heart breaking I find the current war in Palestine to be.

I spent the majority of yesterday reading articles and watching videos about the recent updates that Israeli forces are moving in on Rafah. From what I understand, hundreds of thousands of Palestinians have been forced to evacuate towards Egypt, where there are army tanks blockading many paths of travel. I cannot comprehend the fear these innocent people must feel, the terror, the heart ache, the mourning of their families and their beautiful country.

I cried. I cried and cried and wondered how there can be so much hate in the world. So much disdain and violence. I feel rage, too. White hot rage that takes over me every time I try to type something out. So I remained silent, until now.

I feel innately powerless. I am ashamed to be a UK citizen. I am ashamed to be any part of a country that is doing little to nothing to help, and part of a country who have such a shocking, horrifying history within the whole of the world, including Palestine and Israel.

Something that helped me feel less useless in this terrifying, cruel world, was signing the petition on Oxfam’s website for a lasting cease fire. I also donated to UNICEF and Red Cross

I know we’re living in the middle of an economical crisis. I wasn’t able to donate as much as I desired, but every single penny helps. For people who cannot donate, that’s more than okay! Spreading awareness and speaking up and signing petitions means the world over.

This isn’t something that will pass. This is genocide. And Palestine must be free.

[fledermaus-mainblog]

It feels like a big issue we're facing right now in terms of public perception of the US's current state is that so many of us just want to give up now, and I myself am in a torn situation between the spot of advocating for action and also falling into disrepair myself.

I guess at this point I've come to recognize that no matter what we do, things are certainly going to be very bad, and that is because I'm knowledgeable on the fact that the system as a whole is corrupt and not going to stop being corrupt anytime soon.

Yet on many days, if I'm given some kind of option that has even the slimmest chance of making my voice heard, I shoot for it. Will most state representatives give a shit that we're signing petitions or protesting on behalf of organizations like ACLU? Oh absolutely not. But will it annoy them to get bombarded by thousands, maybe millions in pushback? I think so, and an "I think so" is a lot better than the previous alternative.

I'm looking for action that does something. Anything. If I'm going down, I'm kicking and screaming in the only ways I know how, and I'm going to at least try and be vocal about it, even if it has minor impact.

Even if it doesn't look hopeful or effective, don't discourage others from trying. I'm seeing many comments from the hopeless and despaired on petitions and such, trying to convince others that it's useless — Even if it is, let people try to have hope. It's all we have right now. Don't take that away from people.

This post is okay to reblog btw 👍

[lemoncrushh]

Out of Bounds - Chapter 1

STORY PAGE

Word Count: 2054

I had been contemplating going back to school for the last few years. But if I'm being honest, I don't recall the exact moment I decided to do it. It wasn't like one morning I woke up and told James, "Honey, I'm going to register for college today." I don't even think it was a discussion we had at the dinner table. But I know in the back of my mind it was always there, waiting for me to make the move - to declare to myself that I was officially ready.

So here I was, starting college for the second time. It had been over ten years since the last time I'd started, and I was nervous to say the least. Part of me felt old and a little useless, but then again, I felt useless at home. James had a good-paying job and early on in our marriage we'd discussed my working or not. He told me it was up to me, though not necessary. So, I'd had a few jobs here and there, but nothing I would call a career. For the last year I'd pretty much just been a housewife. To say I was bored would be an understatement. I knew I had something to offer though I wasn't sure what. I also wasn't sure if college would give me the answer, but I figured it could lead me in the right direction.

I'd chosen to start with a light course load as not to get overwhelmed. I signed up for a history class and an English class, both which met on Monday, Wednesday, Friday, as well as a Sociology class that met on Tuesday and Thursday.

My first day was pretty uneventful. I sat in the front row for both classes, mostly because I was afraid I'd miss something the teachers might say, and I knew sitting further back where I could see other students would cause distractions for me. Blame it on my ADD and a little OCD.

My history teacher, Professor Jacobson, was the perfect stereotype of a college instructor, complete with the tweed jacket and bow tie. He lectured for the entire class which made me grateful I had my laptop to take notes and that I was a fast typist. I had an hour to kill before English, so I walked to the snack bar to grab a cup of coffee. I sat at a small table watching the eighteen- to twenty-year-olds walk by and converse with each other. I know that I was blessed with the young-looking gene and could pass for twenty myself, but nevertheless, I felt old.

I had Professor Lloyd, a petite grey-haired woman for English. She seemed nice enough. Maybe a little too nice as she announced we would not have tests and quizzes over what we read, only papers. I decided this was probably too good to be true, therefore I would keep my eye on her.

James got home late that night while I was curled up on the couch reading Pride and Prejudice. I had already cooked and eaten dinner and had left his on the stove.

"So how was your first day?" he asked me as he spooned some carrots onto his plate.

"Pretty good," I replied. I sat down with him at the table while he ate.

"Did you meet anyone?"

I glared at him incredulously. "It was the first day."

"So," said James, his mouth full.

"I don't make friends on the first day of school. I never have in my whole life." As I admitted this out loud, I suddenly realized it was true. I'd never thought about it before. I had always been a bit of a loner.

James shrugged. "Well, I'm sure you will, Tisa." His nonchalant, paternal attitude made me feel uneasy. We didn't really discuss it any further.

After I'd done the dishes, it was time to retire for the evening. James and I had an unorthodox sleeping arrangement. We had separate rooms. It didn't start out that way by any means. He snored. Loudly. I couldn't sleep when he snored. If he wasn't snoring, he tossed and turned until he got comfortable, which again kept me awake. So about five years or so ago I decided to start sleeping in the guest room. We'd gotten so used to it, now it was just the norm. And we'd both get a good night's sleep.

The next morning, I got up earlier than I really needed to for my one class of the day, Sociology. It didn't start until 9:40, but I knew parking could be horrific with people coming and going. Plus, it was in building in the back of the campus which meant more walking. I figured if I was very early, I could hang out in the library. As it turned out, I was only early by a few minutes.

A group of people were already standing around outside the classroom, which was obviously locked. I decided to take out my phone and check Facebook messages while we waited for the teacher. A shadow suddenly cast over my phone, and I felt the presence of someone tall standing in front of me. Not looking up, I barely caught a glimpse of a pair of eyes as the person bent toward me, clearly trying to get my attention.

"Hello," he said in a British accent. Okay, attention got. I looked up to see one of the cutest boys I'd ever seen in my life. No exaggeration. He couldn't have been more than twenty, with long, wavy brown hair that brushed his shoulders. He had lovely, full lips that any woman would be envious of, which curved lopsided into a confident, yet inquiring grin that could melt even the coldest heart of any angst-ridden young girl. I surely didn't remember seeing any boys that cute when I was that age.

"Hi," I said, turning off my phone.

"You're in my History class, aren't you?" he asked.

"I don't know," I smiled. "Am I?"

He nodded, "Yesterday. Professor Jacobson. Right side, front row."

My smile grew. "Yes." He had noticed me?

"I was a few rows back."

"Oh." I couldn't wipe the stupid grin off my face, and I felt myself blush a little.

"I'm Harry," he said, extending his hand.

"Tisa," I replied. "Nice to meet you."

"Pretty name, Tisa. Is that short for something?"

"No, just Tisa" I said, pushing a strand of hair that had fallen in my face behind my ear. "I guess it's sort of like Teresa meets Tina meets Lisa. My mom just wanted to make me different."

Harry continued his lopsided smile at me as he let his gaze drift up and down my body. I suddenly felt self-conscious, but also a little aroused.

Just then a plump, boisterous man in a caramel-colored jacket and khakis walked up and unlocked the classroom door. Assuming he was the teacher, everyone began to follow him inside.

This classroom was different from the large, auditorium style in which Harry and I attended History class. This was about half the size and included multiple large, black tables, with two chairs each, much like my old high school Chemistry lab. I chose the second table to my right and sat in the seat next to the aisle.

"Mind if I take the seat next to you, Tisa?" I heard Harry ask.

"Not at all."

He placed his backpack on the table beside me and sat down. I noticed that in front of us was some sort of survey to fill out for the teacher. I grabbed my own backpack and unzipped it to find something with which to write.

"I don't believe it!" I heard Harry exclaim. "Fucking..." Then he looked at me. "Sorry."

"What's wrong?" I asked with a smirk. His accent was adorable, even when cursing.

"I forgot my bloody pen."

I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. I pulled two pens out of my backpack and handed him one.

"Thanks, love." Harry took the pen from my hand, but then quickly grabbed my hand itself, his eyes wide with surprise. "Is that a wedding ring? Are you married?"

For one split second I silently cursed myself for wearing my rings. But what good would it have done not to? The truth was and was always going to be that I was married.

"Yes, it is, and yes, I am."

"Oh."

He slowly released my hand from his grip. The disappointment on his face couldn't be denied. I saw it plain as day. It made my heart ache, and I felt the bile rise in my throat. Then I did as I always do in an uncomfortable situation. I used humor to diffuse the tension.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, Harry. If you want to take this opportunity to switch seats next to a single girl, I'll totally understand."

This time Harry smirked. "No...no, I'm fine right here."

"I wouldn't blame you," I shrugged. "I mean, I'm flattered that you wanted to sit beside me anyway, but I'm sure there's some other girls in here who would love to flirt with a cute British guy. It wouldn't hurt my feelings."

I heard someone behind me snicker. Harry just stared at me for a moment, then shook his head. "No. I want to sit here."

"Okay," I gave him a sweet smile.

Just then the teacher stood in front of the class. "Alright guys, these are going to be your seats for the rest of the semester. The person sitting next to you will be your partner. Your study partner, your project partner. Make sure you choose wisely. You might end up hating them by the end of the semester." The class broke into laughter. "If you do not have a partner, please move to another table that has only one person..."

"Well, Harry," I turned to him. "Looks like you're stuck with me. No take backs."

Harry grinned his lopsided smile again which sent shivers down my spine. "I like you. You're funny. And nice. And pretty."

"Well, I don't know about pretty, but funny and nice are two things I strive to be."

"You're husband's a lucky man."

I stared at him for a second. He had the most gorgeous green eyes. If only I wasn't married. If only I was twenty again. If only...

"You're sweet," I said.

"What do you have after this?"

"Sorry?" I was still distracted from Professor Crawford's introductory speech.

"What class do you have after this one?" Harry asked again.

"Oh..." I hesitated, putting my laptop in my backpack. "Nothing. This is the only class I have on Tuesdays and Thursdays."

"Too bad," Harry pouted. I raised an eyebrow to inquire what he meant. "I was hoping I'd luck out and have another class with you." He was too cute.

"What class do you have now?" I asked him.

"Biology."

"Have fun with that," I said sarcastically. "I was never into Science. Except in the second grade when we learned about space and the solar system. I still have my planets memorized. And I will always consider Pluto a planet, no matter what the scientists or NASA say."

I realized I was talking too much so I shut up. I also realized we were now walking together outside. We were nearing the parking lot, but my car was on the clear other end. Harry stopped when we reached a fork in the sidewalk.

"Well, my class is this way," he pointed.

"Alright then, Harry, guess I'll see you tomorrow in History."

"I hope so," he nodded.

"Bye," I waved. I took off toward my car quickly before I got the urge to look back at his smile, which I knew without a doubt he was giving me.

That night James again asked me how my day went and if I'd "made any friends." I told him about being paired with a boy that sat next to me in Sociology and that we would have to work together the entire semester on papers and projects. I revealed nothing else, and he didn't ask. But when I went to bed all I could picture in my head were lopsided smiles and green eyes.

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[justalittlesolarpunk]

this is 2 questions, but they're both a little depressing, sorry

any tips for just keeping up hope? things just seem so awful as of late. ik bad things happen all the time, but it just seems like things are genocide on top of environmental collapse on top of genocide. how can you stay hopeful?

and any tips for enacting change as a minor? i don't have any income to spend on supporting causes, i'm not allowed to go to protests or rallies or anything of the like, i can't vote. i feel so useless. i know there has to be something i can be doing! i just don't know what.

again, sorry if this is. not the sort of thing you'd like to answer, i'd understand completely. feel free to like. ignore this i suppose

your blog seems lovely, it's nice to see someone determined to fight for a better world. i hope you have a wonderful day.

Hi. Thanks for getting in touch, and please don’t apologise for your questions. I’m sorry to hear you’ve been struggling, and I want to start by saying that what you’re feeling is a normal, healthy result of being a caring human being in a world full of cruelty and suffering. This is a really difficult time for the planet and its people and so I’d start by saying you’re allowed to feel dispirited and hopeless, especially as a minor looking around and seeing this is the world you’re growing up in.

This will probably be quite a long answer so I apologise for that, but you’ve caught me on my favourite topic - hope. To begin with, I have a little mantra that I repeat to myself which is that while despair as an emotional response is valid and to be expected, despair as an ideological orientation is not acceptable. What this means is that I allow myself and others slack and compassion at times when the feeling that everything is just too fucked to fix takes over. But I don’t permit myself to stop that from making me act. I take inspiration from people who have survived and are surviving incredible adversity - from the indigenous people who chose to keep living, to keep preserving their language and religion and culture, to keep fighting for their land and bringing children into the world even after everything they recognised about it was gone. We aren’t the first culture to face an apocalypse. Similarly I think of the low-lying islanders and other people in the Global South or the Arctic Circle seeing their means of subsistence or their homes being destroyed by climate change. I know this doesn’t sound at all hopeful on the surface, but I remind myself that these people don’t have the luxury of nihilism or despair. They have to keep trying, again and again, rebuilding the dams and re-roofing their houses and planting again the crops that they lost to extreme weather. If they give up, they die. They don’t need my tears and they don’t want my pity. And so reminding myself of the solidarity I owe them sort of resets my brain into getting-stuck-in-mode.

One of the most important things I have done and would recommend others to do to keep the despondency at bay is to act, to get up each morning and make the choice to do good, even if it’s just being kind and friendly to the people I see that day, or signing an online petition, or planting something in the ground. Sure, these actions won’t change the world on their own, but they contribute. And more importantly, they change you.

The second biggest thing is to control your media diet. That means getting serious about reining in your doomscrolling. The news and social media are full of appalling images right now and I’m not saying you should look away, or pretend it isn’t happening, but you have to remember that you becoming emotionally numbed out and vicariously traumatised doesn’t help the victims of war or environmental disaster. So balance out the negative news by actively seeking out things that are going well in the world. Remember that every day countless people get up determined to make things better. Visit Positive News, The Good News Network, The BBC’s Uplifting Stories Page, and similar sites. Follow Sam Bentley and Zahra Biabani. Read Rutger Bregman and Hans Rosling and Jon Alexander. Remind yourself that the good things happening in the world aren’t cancelled out by the bad ones any more than they cancel out the bad. Look for signs of care in the world around you: see how the old friends at the train station hug tightly when they’re reunited, or how the schoolboy helps his friend with his jacket, or the crowd parts to let the old woman through. These things seem small but they are the groundwork for everything we can achieve together.

I have hope because even in the midst of appalling scenes in the Middle East, aid workers are going in with food and medicine, risking their own lives, journalists are drawing attention to the situation, Israelis (even some with families held hostage) are calling for an end to the bombing, groups of Palestinian and Israeli communities have been working together for decades and will be the first to pick up the pieces when the dust settles, and because thousands are marching for justice and peace all over the world. Sometimes the moments that reveal the worst of humanity show us its best too. ‘Look for the helpers’ is a cliche but it’s genuinely useful.

Hope is also something you work at, a skill to be cultivated like any other, and I have found the writings of Rebecca Solnit hugely helpful in cultivating my own practice of hope. In terms of the environment, solarpunk shares origins with hopepunk, a genre that is all about triumphing (or even just trying your damn hardest) in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. You don’t have to become a perfect optimist overnight, you don’t even have to be an optimist at all, you can just hope out of spite. Because the last thing that the corrupt politicians and the war criminals and the fossil fuel billionaires and the media commentators want you to think is that things don’t have to be this way and can get better.

Watch the Earthshot Prize Awards Ceremony even though it’s weird and corporate. Get newsletters from MSF or the UN agencies doing good work on the ground. Watch the birds out of your window. Revisit those good news websites regularly to check out the latest stories. Listen to podcasts that imagine a better future (I am working on a resources masterpost so check back in for that). Bake a cake for someone you know who is having a hard time - maybe that someone is you. That’s ok too. We cannot change the world alone but we can hold and soothe some of the pain in it. And take care of yourself - remember that, as Audre Lorde said, self-care is an act of political warfare. Make joy your resistance whenever you can.

This kind of ties in to your second question - how to make change as a minor. I know you don’t have a lot of power but you can still make a difference. See if you can make an environment society or a group of socially conscious students at your school. Talk to your friends about climate change and social justice issues (studies say this is the single action you can take as an individual that has the greatest likelihood of contributing to systemic change - ahead even of giving up flights or going vegan). Talk to your parents if they’re receptive. Talk to siblings and cousins and the guy behind the supermarket counter. Surround yourself with people who want to make things better, if you can. You’d be surprised how much change you can make even just by asking people or institutions to do better - can your school improve its sustainability, for instance? Write to elected officials even though you can’t vote (they don’t need to know that! You don’t need to tell them your age!) and sign petitions if you can’t go to protests. Sneak out to a protest if you feel like rebelling (though make sure a trusted friend knows where you are and follow safety guidelines available online).

Give yourself some grace to mess up and fall short and fail. It’s beyond unfair you have to be worrying about any of these things, but you are, and that’s because you have a big heart. Take some time to cry in your bed if you need it - I know I have over these past few weeks. Then when you’re ready, get up, wipe your eyes, roll up your sleeves and get to work.

[ali-annals]

Here, go stalk (aka the Coffee Phenomenon)

Pairing: Tim Drake x Marinette Dupain-Cheng

WC: 1.8k | Ao3 | TW: blood | A/N: for @/the-coffee-fandom for National Coffee Day 2023

Nightwing knocked on Red Robin’s mysterious rescuer’s window. She opened it with a stern look. “Really? And a blue and black vigilante outside my window isn’t as obvious as simply knocking on my door?” He shrugged, entering when she stepped back for him.

Thump .

The sound of light feet hitting the roof made the girl turn slightly.

All she saw was a black blob weaving around, making her dizzy.

With a put-upon sigh, she heaved herself up from her perch hundreds of feet above the ground and dusted herself off.

“Hey, are you okay?”

The blob collapsed.

The girl rushed over, the scent of blood hitting her nose as she got closer.

The blob was revealed to be one of the vigilantes of the city she was in, clearly badly hurt.

The girl quickly rolled up her sleeves and checked for the vigilante’s pulse and breathing.

Carefully, she rolled them over into the first-aid recovery position and inspected them for their injuries.

With a tsk and muttered reproofs, she yanked her shirt over her head and tore it at the seams into long, makeshift bandages. The vigilante was suffering from multiple knife wounds; some shallow, a couple quite deep.

Shaking her head as she realized her meagre first-aid equipment was useless, she raised her hand to her head. “Jument, voyage!”

~~~

“Robin, report.”

Robin raised a hand to his earpiece. “There is a small puddle of blood on the roof of Killinger’s Department Store. One of Red Robin’s Batarangs is a little ways from it. There is a ripped black shirt by the blood. It appears to have been used as a makeshift bandage, then discarded. No signs of a struggle or foul play.”

In the Batcave, Batman growled at the lack of clues. Nightwing’s name popped up on the Batcomputer.

[Incoming Call: Titan’s Tower: Nightwing]

[ACCEPT]

“Hey, B. O told me Red Robin went missing. Raven is in Gotham incognito. I can ask her if she’d try to track him down.”

“Hnn.” Batman considered. “Okay.”

Fifteen minutes later, Raven entered the cave in her Titans uniform.

Batman explained the finer details of Red Robin’s disappearance, then Raven opened a portal to the roof where he had been last identified.

“There was definitely magical interference of some kind,” Raven decided. “Someone opened a portal. It’s unlike any portal magic I’ve seen, though. This might take some time.”

Batman & Co. waited on tenterhooks for Raven to finish her…whatever she did. Finally, she turned back to them. “I can trace the portal’s energy and hopefully follow RR.”

The Bats breathed a sigh of relief and waited even longer as Raven opened a portal and disappeared.

~~~

Raven blinked at the scene before her.

Red Robin was lying on a couch, unconscious.

A petite dark-haired young woman was sitting in the chair beside him, bent over him as she…sewed his suit up? At least, that was what Raven thought was happening.

“Excuse me? Who are you, and what are you doing?” The woman looked up, flashing a smile before she returned to her stitching. “Oh, you work fast. I’m a friend, and I’m sewing up Red Robin’s suit. It got badly cut up in some spots, so I’m fixing it till he can get a replacement.”

Raven wondered at the woman’s word choice, but didn’t say anything.

“Is he alright?”

“Oh, yes. He’s just asleep. I healed him from his wounds, but natural healing and rest is best.”

“You seem familiar,” murmured Raven. “Have we met somewhere before?”

She shook her head. “I don’t recall meeting you. Raven, from the Titans, right?”

“That’s me. What is your magic from? I can’t recall coming across a signature like yours before.”

“I don’t exactly flaunt my skills,” laughed the girl, snipping a thread. “There, you can take him home. I assume he won’t remember any of this at all, since he collapsed before I got to him.” 

“How did you find him?” Raven tilted her head curiously. “He was on a roof. That’s not exactly a common hangout spot.”

The woman laughed. “I’m not exactly common. I was on the roof to think. There’s nothing like a quiet nightscape to think over.”

Raven silently agreed. “Thank you for taking care of Red Robin.”

“Of course; I couldn’t just leave him there. He was bleeding out too fast and I didn’t know how to contact Batman.”

“I’ll leave you my number and Nightwing’s in case you come across something like this again. One of us should be available.”

“Thanks, Raven. Can I give you mine as well? Save Batman the trouble of stalking me?”

Raven’s lips quirked up at the edges. “Sure.”

Raven placed her and Nightwing’s business cards on the table by the woman’s sewing stuff, freeing her hands to pick up Red Robin, a card tucked into his belt by his rescuer.

With him slung over her shoulder, she opened a new portal and popped back into the Batcave.

“He’s been healed, courtesy of his rescuer. He’s currently unconscious so he can rest and naturally heal. I gave his rescuer my and ‘Wing’s cards in case she needs to contact one of us again, and I got hers.” Raven fished the card out of RR’s belt and handed it to Batman. “Here, go stalk.”

~~~

Nightwing knocked on Red Robin’s mysterious rescuer’s window.

She opened it with a stern look. “Really? And a blue and black vigilante outside my window isn’t as obvious as simply knocking on my door?”

He shrugged, entering when she stepped back for him.

“I wanted to say thank you for rescuing Red Robin and healing him. He’s the most energetic he’s been in ages. Probably because he actually had a good sleep. How did you do it?”

“Magic,” she winked. 

“The Teen Titans wanted to extend an invitation for you to partner with or join us, at your convenience.”

The young woman blinked back at him. “How much did Batman find on me that you want me to join your team?”

“Er…Raven vouched for you. Empath, you know? She could tell you’re inherently good.”

“Ah. I’d like some time to think about it, please.”

“Of course. You have my number, feel free to contact me whenever.”

~~~

“How is it going?” Raven stopped by the new recruit Marie’s room.

She looked up from her unpacking, a large red box in her hands. “It’s going well. I’m glad I accepted the invitation. I’m excited to work with a team!”

“We’re glad to have you.”

“So, Red Robin is also part of the Titans?”

“Yes, though he works under the moniker Robin, here.”

“Oh, that’s not confusing at all,” joked Marie.

Raven rolled her eyes in sympathy. “I know. That’s the Bats for you, and RR in particular.”

~~~

“So, you found your soulmate.”

Nightwing’s face appeared upside down in Marie’s vision, from where she was hanging upside down on the couch in the Titans’ den.

“Huh?”

“Robin and you. You keep the exact same hours, drink the same unholy amounts of coffee, espresso, and energy drinks, and are both paranoid about your rooms and confidential information. You’re practically the same person in two bodies.”

“Huh.” Marie mulled that over for a bit, the increased blood flow fueling her brain, or so she claimed. “I wonder if we became that way because of heroing or if we became heroes because it fit our lifestyle like that. I should do a study on that.”

Marie flipped over the arm of the couch and headed down the hallway to Robin’s room, ready to get a partner to study the phenomena.

Nightwing sank onto the vacated couch and groaned, his head in his hands.

~~~

It came as no surprise when Robin and Epiphany revealed they were dating. Their strange living habits practically threw the two together. Luckily for everyone, they got along instead of clashing over their similarities.

The longer Marie spent around the Titans and assimilated to their family, the more she opened up. She used to be the leader of a small team of heroes in her city, but once their villain was finally defeated, almost all of her team members had chosen to give up their loaned powers and erase their memories of heroing.

Alone and tired, Marie had moved, changed almost everything about her, and kept a quiet profile. She had missed heroing, though, and when Nightwing approached her with the opportunity to join a team and not be the leader, she accepted. 

Her fellow members welcomed her with open arms, and she was filled with warm fuzzy feelings of belonging and love.

~~~

Raven gently placed her hand on Marie’s knee, exerting pressure until she stopped bouncing it rapidly up and down. 

Marie turned to her, only realizing she’d been literally vibrating in her seat as she met Raven’s eyes. “Okay, I might be a bit nervous meeting Batman and Oracle and Red Hood and Robin and Spoiler and Alfred,” Marie answered the unspoken question, her voice becoming higher pitched as she listed each member of the BatClan

“It will be okay,” soothed Raven, surrounding Marie with calming emotions. “Batman will like you because you saved RR, and everyone else will like you too. It’s going to go fine.”

“If you say so,” she muttered, only half-believing her best friend.

The zeta tube announced the BatClan’s arrival, and Marie stood nervously, though less uptight than when Raven first saw her. 

Red Robin was the first through, followed by Batman and the rest.

He immediately headed to her, presenting her proudly to the Dark Knight. “This is my Marie, Epiphany.”

Marie melted at his possessive use of her name, and the remaining nerves went with it. “It’s nice to meet you all, I’m Marie.”

“We’re happy to meet you, finally,” said Spoiler, bouncing out from behind Robin. “Nightwing and Red Robin said we’d love you, and they were right!”

The visit went very well.

Marie was surprised by Batman’s non-Batman-ness, but Spoiler leaned over to tell her he was on strict instructions from Nightwing, Raven, and herself not to blow this.

The BatClan eventually left, having collected the information Batman came to receive (and thus required everyone else to tag along and get a glimpse of Marie), and Marie and Tim curled up on the couch, mugs of Marie’s Special Brew in hand.

“That went better than I expected,” commented Tim, pressing a kiss to Marie’s head.

“Everyone was perfectly nice,” said Marie. “I feel like you were exaggerating your stories now.”

He snorted. “Trust me, I was not . Once they know for sure they’re not going to scare you off, then they’ll show you their true forms. It will be nothing but chaos and glitter from here out.”

Marie giggled. “You say that as if you don’t encourage chaos. But, speaking of chaos, I may have some outsourced help to make a splash worth remembering when I enter the world of Bat shenanigans.”

Their evil chuckles filled the den, and Raven retreated to her room. She wasn't getting involved when a Bat laughed like that .

[onetruewolfgang]

Can you guys like. Just keep your shitty behavior to yourselves. Please. Nobody cares or wants to know that you think every fucking plea from a disparaged refugee is a scam or that people are stupid for giving money to them. Some of you people blow your fucking money on shitty YouTuber merch or ao3 donations or other useless nonsense, spending your day on character ai sucking the life out of the planet and getting into stupid twitter arguments while the rest of us are struggling to make ends meet and barely have a fucking life. You know what I’m glad that at least people are giving money even if it’s a scam because it means they give a fuck to donate at all. Can you say the same? Even if you don’t donate to fundraisers when was the last time you gave money to Wikipedia? Or signed a petition, the most free form of protest you can fucking do? I barely make 18 dollars every two fucking weeks from slow commissions and I spend it all on ramen noodles and water because when I’m not in New York I’m starving every fucking day because I don’t have a job or a car and the people who let me live here fucking hate me and my boyfriend. And you people who are living comfortable lives in your cozy fucking beds and running showers and money to spend on fucking McDonald’s and capitalist ai slop are whining and pissing that a fundraiser might be a scam? Because you might have to give your precious money away to something that isn’t a fucking tumblr checkmark? Fuck you

[alphabetboyluvr]

bad decisions - jjk | four

"Promise me a free Purple Starfucker, and I'll consider it a little bit more," you bargain. He runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, readjusting his bag over his shoulder. Shakes his head. Glossy and dark as he focuses on you, you think his eyes look just like black treacle. Divine. Delicious. Suit him well. With a poorly hidden smile, he concedes. "Maybe." "Okay then," you nod. "See you maybe, Jungkook." He nods back. "See you maybe, Disco Ball."

Bad Decision #4 - The Gym

warnings: a gym. no further warning. oh and jk is sexy but what's new?

soundtrack: 20 something - sza, angostura - keshi

wc: 4.1k

bd total wc: 370k (on-going)

minors dni | wattpad | series masterlist |

Glancing down to the address that Hoseok had hastily scribbled on a piece of scrap paper, you sigh. It's a hearty one. Clears your lungs. Gets your blood pumping a little swifter. There's a weight to staying alive, and it feels like it might just crush down on your windpipe and suffocate you altogether.

Okay, so maybe you're being dramatic. Maybe this is fine. You tell yourself to 'get a grip', but you know it's useless.

It's not that you're nervous—except for the fact you totally are—you just don't like the idea of gyms. They remind you of your ex a little too much.

More specifically, how he'd force you to go along with him, and how you'd whine and moan, but spend the entire time laughing with him. How he'd lift you instead of weights. How he'd tell you that you look 'far too hot' in a pair of leggings and sports bra, and the way you'd keep them on until you got home just for the simple pleasure of him being the one to take them off.

So, yeah. You don't like gyms. Avoid them when you can.

Partially because you don't know which one he goes to anymore, but mainly because it feels like you can't breathe whenever you see a pair of shoulders almost broad enough to be his. There tend to be a lot of jacked guys in gyms. Makes it a more common occurrence.

Still, you've been trying to remedy that. Trying to face fears. Failing, but trying at least.

You swallow back the lump in your throat. Bite the bullet. Open the door. Easy.

The girl at the front desk is potentially the most drop-dead gorgeous woman you've ever seen. Raven-haired, petite, a smile that could end wars. She's laughing with another member of staff - a trainer, you think - before he goes into a backroom.

You're a little unsure of yourself still, but she's glowing in such a way that it feels like maybe this could be okay. Nothing to fear. Plus who would even bother looking at a man's shoulders when someone who looks like she does is around? Far more captivating. Endlessly more appealing.

Her smile focuses on you as you walk towards her, brows lifted, eyes wide and open as if to say 'Hiya! Welcome!'. Her voice is just as chirpy as you imagine when she greets you.

"I don't think I recognise you," she says, questioning herself before she makes an introduction. "My name's Jiyeong, I'm a trainer here. Are looking to sign up for a membership?"

You shake your head and laugh a little awkwardly. You're not really dressed for the gym - a pair of sweats and a slouchy Carhartt tee. It's not sports gear appropriate for a place like this. Everyone's in skin-tight lycra, and they all look great wearing it. Makes you think that maybe you should try and get over this fear for good. Become one of those people.

"No, actually," you grimace a little awkward, voice sweet. You know you're gonna be asking for a favour, so try and fail to keep it short. Instead, you ramble a little. "I'm meeting someone here, but I don't have my phone—he's got it actually. Dumb accident. Long story actually, completely my fault —anyways, I was wondering if you'd be able to buzz me through so I could just grab it quickly? I'll be five seconds, in and out. Please."

It's at this point the corners of her mouth drop a little. Her lips press together. She's still smiling, but it doesn't reach her eyes anymore. "Hmm?"

"His name is Jungkook," you begin to explain further—but then she smiles again and cuts you off.

"Oh, I don't think I know a Jungkook?" She pouts a little. "Anyways, I'm really sorry but I can't let you through without a membership. Company policy. I really wish it wasn't the case, but they track the entry process."

You don't want to put her out. You've worked in customer service for long enough to know not to push company protocol. It's not worth getting fired over just to make a customer's life a tiny bit easier - and so you nod.

"Of course, totally understand," you say as you glance over to the gate that allows access into the workout area. It needs a passcode. Can't even make a dash for it - although you're half tempted to when you see a couple come through the gate without a care in the world. It takes an absolute age to shut. "Do you guys do day memberships here? I literally just need to get in and out, but I'll pay for a day pass if I need to."

Something about Jiyeong is really throwing you off. She's smiling, and she looks like butter wouldn't melt, but there's a sourness to it all. There's no butter. Just curdled milk.

She winces apologetically. Shrugs. Brings her shoulders to her ears in a way you would have found sweet maybe five minutes ago. Shakes her head.

"They're referral only. You'll need someone with a preexisting membership with you. But!" She chirps up. "We have a month pass you can purchase instead."

For all of your common sense faux-pas, and the bad decisions that have led you here, you're not actually stupid. No gym in their right mind would actively try and sabotage their own earnings. She's spewing bullshit, but is somehow managing to make it smell like roses.

"A month?" You question, trying not to let your frustration show.

"Mhhm," she nods.

Her beauty seems to fade with every smile. Ironic, really. Her friendly demeanour is what had made her so attractive, and now it's shattering the illusion.

In any other circumstance, you'd say fuck it, and head home - but Jungkook has your phone.

You said you'd meet him here. You could wait until he finishes his workout but you have no idea when that will be, and you're still suffering from your hangover. You just want to get it over and done with, so you say, "Alright, I'll sign up for a month. No rolling contract."

"No rolling contract," she nods. "Okay. Just need a few details from you."

There's a form to fill out; payment details to be given. A box to tick: which trainer helped you sign-up? Small print: Trainers earn a small commission for every sign-up. Please ask for their name.

You're half tempted to check another trainer's name, but she's watching you like a fucking hawk.

Should have just chosen the club. Would have been easier. Could have even made a night of it - it's a Saturday after all. But no, you and your tiny marble brain thought that the gym would be easier? Better?

Ridiculous. Hoseok had been right all along. It was the worst choice you'd made all week.

"You're all ready," she smiles as you lament the choices of your past self. She says a goodbye that sounds friendly but feels like a fuck you. You're not sure what exactly you've done to rub her up the wrong way, but you'd quite like it if you never rubbed shoulders with her again.

There's a mechanical whir as you enter a pin into the gate. It opens for you with a small beep, and you feel like your throat is closing up a little bit. There's a wrought iron staircase leading up to the weight area, the bottom level focused more on machines and cardio. A third floor is reserved for studios and private classes according to the signage, so you decide he's probably not there.

You don't know much about this man, but you have seen him without a shirt on. The weight area seems like a safe bet.

There's an uncomfortable discord in your chest as you head up to the second floor, your black high-top chucks padding against the metal gently. Hair up, not even trying to pretend like you're not still hanging, part of you regrets dressing so casually.

Your skin feels all hot and clammy, and you know exactly why, but you try and convince yourself that it's just the hangover. That's all it is.

It'll pass, you tell yourself. In and out. You're alright.

Jungkook notices you before you notice him. He's by the mirrors. Caught sight of you, your eyes all wide and worried - presumably in search of him - as he was checking his form. Putting his weight down, he turns to face you a little more straight on, which is what draws your focus to him.

"Hey," he says a little breathlessly, a tone of surprise evident. He whips a towel over his shoulder, and you're reminded of how he looked behind the bar of Dionysus. Dabs at his face a little. Shakes his head to adjust the hair that is stuck to his forehead from his workout.

"What are you doing up here?" He asks tenderly, conscious of the fact you look like you've seen a ghost. He's aware he probably doesn't look his best, but he didn't think he looked that bad. "I told Jiyeong to let me know when you arrived. Was just gonna bring it down, save you the hassle."

"Oh," you reply, a little stuck on your words. The burning in your throat is subduing. The pressure on your chest feels a little lighter.

"Sorry, I"— you begin, and then you remember who the fuck you are. You hate being like this. Hate when you get panicked. Hate that he seems to be looking at you with concern. Also hate that Jiyeong is apparently a massive dick, but you'll choose to be frustrated about that later. "I actually have a membership here."

Joy.

Jungkook hums in surprise, head tilting, mouth forming a cute little 'o'. "You do? Never seen you here before."

Wonder why.

"Oh yeah, here all the time," you nod, because apparently Jiyeong isn't the only one who fancies being a big old liar today. And then you smile. Flirt. "Like, maybe even more than you."

Now, this he does raise a brow at. Smirks. Picks up his weight as he moves to straddle the bench beside him. He sits down and places the weight beneath his arms for something to lean on. "Not so sure about that."

He's wearing black chucks, too. Slouchy black tee. The only real difference is that he's in shorts. Your lips curve upwards, but you catch them before he notices.

"I'm just always downstairs," you shrug, playing off your little white lie like it's no biggie. "Surprised I haven't seen you about here, either."

You don't mean to be such an egregious liar, you're just embarrassed. Ashamed. Disconcerted by the fact you know you looked like a lost puppy when you arrived, and also how you know Jiyeong totally played some weird power move on you. You're not sure what to make of it. Don't like it, but also will likely never see her again. Not worth it. Not over some guy you don't intend on ever seeing again, either.

The logical assumption to be made is that she's involved with him in some capacity. Makes sense. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy to get lonely in the early hours.

Jungkook accepts your bullshit. He knows it's bullshit because he does cardio as much as he does weights - anyone with an inkling of gym knowledge would be able to tell. He's sure you have your own niche, things that would win you points on a pub quiz, but the gym? Doesn't seem likely.

"Phones just in my locker," he tells you as he gets to his feet again, lifting his weight like it's a cup of coffee. You've no idea how much it weighs. Doubt you'd be able to make it look that effortless. "I'm just finishing up. Can you wait, like, five minutes? Or do you have places to be?"

His skin is dappled in rivulets of sweat. There's too much to take in visually, so you focus on his voice, instead. It's soft. Tender. Kind, you think.

And so despite the fact there's no place you'd rather be less, you smile. Nod. "I can wait."

He nods back, says thank you, and gets back to his weights. He does a few more reps just to get to his daily goal, and then sets about clearing his area; puts the weights back on the rack, wipes down his bench. Runs his hand through his damp hair. Exhales a deep breath before turning to face you with a smile.

You wonder if he can notice the drool you've been trying not to let slip.

He can't - but finds it curious how he didn't catch your gaze a single time during his final few reps. The gym is relatively quiet at this time of day, so there's no one in the immediate vicinity. Whenever he'd glanced in the mirror, your eyes were elsewhere.

One place in particular.

The other mirror; one that's angled in such a way you can see his side profile. Jungkook's aware of it. Had kind of positioned himself in line with it on purpose.

"What's so interesting?" he asks and is met with a confused hum. Does he really think you're gonna admit to checking him out? Dream on. "You were just like... absorbed by that mirror. Good reflection?"

"Oh," you mumble, cheeks deepening in tone - and yet your poker face is just so good. "Was zoned out. Didn't notice."

He doesn't call you out on it any further. For all he knows, you could be telling the truth.

You wait for him by the entryway gate as he gets changed. Jiyeong watches you from the corner of her eye, being as discreet as she possibly can - but you can feel her eyes on you. In fact, she's as good at discretion as you were when you were watching Jungkook work out.

When he finally emerges in a pair of grey shorts and hoodie, you smile. So does Jiyeong.

He greets you. Ushers you through the gate. Says hi and bye to Jiyeong. Puts a hand on the top of your back as he opens the front door of the gym, but insists you walk through first.

"How are you feeling today?" He asks as you make your way down the path that leads to the subway station. "Still rough?"

"That obvious?" You laugh. "Ouch. Thanks, dude."

"No," he laughs back. "You're forgetting I was the only sober person in my apartment last night. You drank enough to kill a person."

"That's not true," you accuse, before deflecting the blame. "Was all you and your Purple Starfuckers. Bloody lethal."

"Bloody brilliant," he counters. There's an ease as you walk side by side. You chalk it up to finally being out of the gym. Feels like you can breathe again. "Tell me you didn't keep coming back for more."

He has a point. You're surprised you didn't all drink the bar dry. But you simply laugh. Tap the crease of his elbow lightly with the back of your hand.

He's smiling, too.

"Tell me you didn't keep giving me them for free! On the house! What kind of maniac turns down free drinks?!"

You've got a point. He can't argue against it—so instead he just gets a little argumentative. It's all in good fun. Shared humour.

"Well then next time, you'll get nothing on the house, how about that? Not even water."

You snort a little, pushing your head back as you do so. You pass the first subway exit, with no idea if you're heading in the right direction for one another. Neither of you asks; neither of you declares.

"Next time?" You scoff, still hanging. "I'm never drinking again."

"Heard that one before."

"I mean it. This hangover has written me off. Work almost killed me."

He wonders where you work. Wonders if the work is gruelling, or if you'd been able to recover in peace. He hopes for the latter. Would tease you if it's the former.

"You working tomorrow?" he pipes up. There's curiosity in his tone, but not enough for you to realise just how intrigued he is by you.

He's never seen a girl walk out on Jimin before. Ever. It's kind of remarkable. He wants to know why. Doesn't want to ask why, though.

You shake your head. "Day off."

Thank god.

Jungkook considers his options. He knows full well, walk-out or not, that you fucked Jimin last night. It adds complexity. Makes him unsure of his next steps.

It's not like he's trying to get in your pants - he'd never hear the end of it from the boys if he went for Jimin's leftovers - but he'd be a liar if he said he didn't like your presence at the bar last night.

Not just you. All three of you. You've good energy. He enjoys the nights when punters are actually fun. If tonight is gonna be busy, he'd rather it be busy on his own terms.

"DJ's are doing a throwback theme tonight," he hums, and the way you stop in your tracks is beyond satisfying for him. He loves it when a plan comes together.

"Throwbacks, you say?"

He stops too, and turns to look at you with a slight air of nonchalance. There's a shrug to his broad shoulders, which remarkably don't remind you of your exes, his wide eyes soft as a subtle smile graces his lips. "All bangers."

"Define bangers," you challenge.

And oh, how Jeon Jungkook loves a challenge.

"Well," he says as he begins walking again. You follow. "Last time there were a LOT of old-school Taylor Swift songs."

"Keep talking."

"Timbaland, Rihanna—I'm talking proper noughties classics."

"I'm listening."

"Outkast, Coldplay, Arctic Monkeys"—

"Offt."

—"Kanye, Mika, you name it. One Direction, fuckin' anything. They'll play it."

"Do they take requests?"

"Well, no I didn't mean they'll literally play anything you name," he laughs. "But you've got an in." He points at himself, seemingly proud of that fact. "I can get them to play whatever you want."

"Offt, I love having friends in high places," you muse, to which he tells you to 'fuck off' with the biggest grin on his face you've seen all day. "I'll think about it. You on the bar?"

He nods. "I am indeed."

"Hmm. Makes it less tempting."

Jungkook wants to fight back, but knows that he'd probably end up flirting, and it's not his intention - so he changes the topic.

"Jimin might be there, too. A friendly face."

He doesn't notice the way your face scrunches up a little uncomfortably.

"I'm not really sure that'll sway me," you tell him. "Was a one-time thing. Sorry about that, again. Waking you, I mean. Not cool."

You really do believe your words - after all, Jungkook had been the one to return your phone, not Jimin. Chivalry is dead, and apparently men get their housemates to return glass slippers, these days.

It's kind of Jungkook's own fault.

Jimin doesn't know you've lost it. Jungkook hasn't told him. Isn't sure why. Didn't really think about it at the time.

"It's fine, really. And I've lived with Jimin long enough to know it's never just a one-time thing."

"I'm an exception."

"Believe it when I see it."

And suddenly you feel challenged now - but you're by the final subway entrance. You've walked past three exits already. Should have really taken the first. Couldn't bring yourself to end the conversation earlier.

However, now that the conversation has turned towards the topic of Jimin, you find yourself less inclined to continue it. You'd rather not be reminded of your questionable drunk decisions in the cold, sober light of day.

"This is me," you tell him.

"Ah." He stops walking. Pauses. Looks at his Chuck Taylor-clad feet as he stands in front of you. He's holding onto the strap of his rucksack as he asks, "So you'll be at the club tonight?"

When he looks up, he's nibbling down on his bottom lip-toying with his lip ring. There's a hesitancy to his words, as if he's afraid you might say no.

You pretend as if you're weighing up your options, shifting your weight from foot to foot, lips pursed. You know if you propose the idea to Hoseok he'll jump at the chance to get shitfaced again, and where the pair of you venture, Danbi will surely follow. It's inevitable that you will end up at Dionysus tonight.

But you simply smile and say, "Maybe."

He rolls his eyes, and it makes you laugh. He laughs, too. It's sweet, the way his energy matches yours. There's an ease to your rapport. You think it must be incredibly easy to be his friend.

"Promise me a free Purple Starfucker, and I'll consider it a little bit more," you bargain.

He runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, readjusting his bag over his shoulder. Shakes his head. Glossy and dark as he focuses on you, you think his eyes look just like black treacle. Divine. Delicious. Suit him well.

With a poorly hidden smile, he concedes. "Maybe."

"Okay then," you nod. "See you maybe, Jungkook."

He nods back. "See you maybe, Disco Ball."

"I won't come if you call me a disco ball again," you shout back as you descend down the stairs, leaving him by the exit.

He chooses not to banter back, scared he could ruin the moment; make things awkward, somehow. Instead, he turns on his heel, and begins retracing his steps.

His turning was three junctions ago. He'd carried on walking just to talk bullshit with you. He chalks it up to him being too awkward to cut the conversation off.

See, he might like a challenge, but he's plagued by the realities of them, too. Hates the idea of people not liking him. Wants to be loved universally, so refuses to embark on endeavours that could prove otherwise. He's Mr What If, and he's quite content that way.

Jungkook's nearly by the first crossing when he hears you shouting after him. You're a little breathless. Panting. He knows there's absolutely no way you do cardio.

"Wait, wait!" You call all flustered and hurried. "Jungkook! Wait!"

He's already waiting. The lights are still red. You're too concerned by your own internal panic to notice.

"Phone!" You almost wail, before you laugh. Inhale. Rest your palms on your knees. Exhale. Look up towards him. "My phone, Jungkook! You still have my phone."

"Oh, shit," he laughs, pulling off his rucksack and fishing about for it. Seems so stupid to have forgotten about it. His cheeks are hot.

It's returned promptly, apologies tumbling from his lips like laughter is falling from yours.

"This was all part of your plan, wasn't it?" You narrow your eyes accusingly. "Was gonna keep it so I had to go to the club."

He raises his arms, hands next to his ears, palms spread open, as if he's holding a white flag. "You caught me."

But it'll be Jungkook catching you later - or at least your gaze, as he reciprocates a knowing smile when you inevitably end up in Dionysus, ready to make all the wrong choices all over again.

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